


Drink Me

by mimiplaysgames



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Accidental Confessional, Domestic Fluff, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Mild Sexual Content, Pining, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29438013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimiplaysgames/pseuds/mimiplaysgames
Summary: Aqua drinks a truth potion... Now they're going to have to talk about things.
Relationships: Aqua/Terra (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 44





	Drink Me

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!! 
> 
> This is part of an art/fic trade that I'm doing with Moe (@terraswill on Twitter)!! I was so excited to work on this but it was also just... so hard?? We agreed on the trade back in June I think, and it took me this long. xD The timing was perfect though, and here is their [beautiful art piece](https://twitter.com/terraswill/status/1361072925588217861?s=20)! 
> 
> Moe asked for something domestic and fluffy (and I'm totally the wrong person to ask but I never back down from a challenge dkfjkfjgf), and maybe give Aqua a reason to play a prank. We support a Let Aqua Have Fun 2021 agenda in this house. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. To my angst readers, I hope you find something here you like anyway lmao

She says she’s annoyed with me because I won’t let her dust the tapestry. Or rather, I won’t let her have her _way_ and take on this ugly monstrosity (which I think is supposed to depict an ancient Keyblade Master who died four-hundred years ago; at this point, the threads are too faded to give him a defined face). 

The truth has more layers than that, something I don’t like to talk about. But it’s a clear day, the sun beaming through our windows and igniting the castle in golden hues. I won’t find the time to mope when Aqua is beckoning me to give her the feather duster. 

Aqua is a lot shorter than me. I pretend to give it to her, only to swerve it around her face and hang it up high above her head. I’ve got a smirk to last me hours, and there’s a sly one pulling on her lips. 

“Maybe if you jump,” I say, wiggling it. 

She doesn’t move. “Terra.”

I pull it up higher. “Come get it.”

“Or you could stop trying to overcompensate and let me help you.”

“Who says that’s what I’m doing?” That’s exactly what I’m doing. Any chance I get, I’ll do it all to make up for lost years. If she says she’ll tidy the garden tomorrow, I’ll rip the weeds by dawn. If she wants to prepare a feast, I’ll organize the ingredients, the recipes, the appliances. I call it helping out. She calls it ridiculous. 

“You’re ridiculous,” she says. Yep.

“It’s not like you could reach the top anyway,” I say, knowing this is _precisely_ what would set her off.

Aqua likes to present herself as proper: head tall, ankles together. But when _I_ push her buttons, that’s the first mask to melt off. She lunges at me, chest to chest, aiming for the duster that’s balancing on the tips of my fingers, my elbow locked and shoulder riding as high as it can, as if I’m trying to clean the ceiling. We’re giggling, we’re tight, we’re children all over again.

“Give it,” she says, her eyebrows and lips twisted in feverish concentration. She’d never let anyone else see her behave this way. 

“What are you doing?” She steps onto my shoes to gain height and I have to wrap my free arm around her waist to keep our balance (not that I’d complain if she ends up landing on top of me). My heart is pounding stupid rhythms at the smell of her shampoo. I don’t like sweet, but I like it on her. 

“Master’s orders. Give it to me.” 

“Try harder.”

She inhales sharply, giving me that Aqua look. _Fine_. She turns her head towards the tapestry and puckers her lips together, blowing air as if blowing out a candle. The layer of dust that sits at the very top bursts, sprinkling the console table beneath it. 

In my shock, she snatches the feather duster, the quietest _Hmm_ of satisfaction coming out loud enough to demand my audience. She taps the tapestry with a flat laundry bat, all while waving her hand over the surface of the table, the dust collecting itself as if swirled by a magnetic tornado. 

No use for the duster at all. 

“You think you’re clever,” I say, getting close behind her. 

“I think you agree.”

I think she’s pretending. Her smile looks the same but it’s manufactured, tied to a puppeteer’s strings. There’s a flicker in her eyes that tells me she doesn’t agree at all. I’m prepared to tell her that she’s assured and confident, but she already knows. This happens: I’ll catch a sudden recognition dawning on her face, like she’s reminding herself of something, and I’m left to guess what it could be.

We’re interrupted by a loud sneeze that drifts from the other side of the hall, followed by a hack and a cough, finishing with a sniffle. 

She’s panicked. It sounds like a case of the common cold, and nothing to be worried about, but that’s Aqua. I follow her lead, which takes us to no one else but Ven, who is wiping his face. A faint trace of dust rides on the strands of his hair. Actually, there’s dust everywhere except on the tapestry he’s responsible for. 

“Ven!” Aqua gapes. “What happened here?”

He takes a look around the chaos and gives a mere shrug, rubbing the back of his hand on his pants. “I was dusting.”

“You were using magic,” she says like she’s scolding him, despite doing the same minutes ago.

“What did you expect me to do?” He gestures towards the tapestry—the Master’s favorite, of a round cat lounging on a throne and announcing a toast with his goblet—like it’s a mountain to climb. “Get a _ladder_?”

“What a mess,” Aqua mutters with a flitter of her fingers, shepherding the dust together so it’s easier to collect. 

“I’m not finished.”

“ _Master’s orders_ ,” I say and Aqua doesn’t spare me a glare. Yes, I find that funny.

Ven ushers her aside. “Come on, let me help.”

“I got it,” she says, fixated on the job. Always the one to _do_ and still can’t learn to _accept_ a helping hand.

“ _Aqua_.”

“Ven?”

I know better than to get in the middle of this.

Ven generates gusts of air with a wave of both of his arms—a terrible idea when Aqua’s conducting from the other side—and the dust grows darker into a thick cloud of smoke. He stares at his handiwork with a dropped jaw. I’m shocked too. Where did all of that come from?

Aqua grunts as she tries to calm the storm, Ven mimicking her movements.

“Let it go,” I say, placing my hand on her shoulder.

“It will all fall to the floor.”

“There’s too much pressure building up from the bottom.”

“It’s under control.”

“It’s going to explode.”

She pouts ( _stars_ , it’s cute) but of course, only half-listens to me. Moving her palms parallel to the floor, she makes a gesture as if to compress. With Ven slacking, it billows low to the floor and then sweeps up.

The tapestry flaps upward, revealing a door.

Ven’s the first to cough. “What’s that?”

Aqua and I stare at each other. We’ve hidden behind every single one of these tapestries when we played as kids. There shouldn’t _be_ a door.

“Do you think it’s magic leftover from—” I start to ask.

She shakes her head. “It can’t be. I returned everything to its rightful place.”

“Then what is this supposed to mean?” 

Discouraged by our hushed tones, Ven stops himself from turning the knob, waiting for our approval.

“It could have been hidden by a spell,” Aqua suggests.

“Oh.” 

We’re quiet. Spells last for as long as the spellcaster is alive.

“The Master would have called it an inheritance,” I say. “Don’t you think?”

One by one, we peek into the secret room. Ven is eager to open the door but only pushes it a sliver. It creaks with determination to wake everyone inside. Aqua is second, looking over him. I’m last, searching the corners for signs of movement. 

It’s empty except for a rack of white robes, stacks of books on a desk, a chess board, and a forest-colored couch. On the opposite wall sits a huge wardrobe next to a reading stand, displaying an open tome on what may have been the last page the Master read. An old-fashioned wall clock with visible parts and spinning characters counts the time, looking peculiarly like the Land of Departure. The sun shines through a window—though this would be an extra. All the windows on both sides of the castle are accounted for. You wouldn’t be able to see this room from the outside. 

“Terra,” Aqua gasps, “look at these books.”

Most of them are titled in an ancient language. “They’re from Scala.”

“We could probably find Sora with these,” she says, flipping through one.

Some of the robes are sewn with patches of snake skin, others stained with faded off-yellow, each a varying size for a growing teenager. I take the largest—it smells like dust—and slip it on. Almost a perfect fit, though I would’ve preferred it longer.

“It looks good on you,” Aqua says, coming to my side.

I smile at the floor, imagining what the Master would have said, how large his smile would have been under that bushy mustache, like the day he gave me his belt buckle and told me it would be a nice touch. Aqua inspects a fraying seam on the shoulder.

“I can fix that,” she whispers. I let her pull it off me, and she dotingly folds it over the book she decides to take with her. 

“ _Whoa_.”

We drop our thoughts and turn to Ven, who’s helped himself to the wardrobe, stupefied at shelves of potions in glass flasks. Ugly colors, weirdly shaped, totally bizarre. 

“These aren’t any potions I recognize,” Aqua says, placing her stack on the couch and investigating the shelf with her arms crossed. 

None of them are labeled. “Maybe they’re lost knowledge,” I say, still thinking about her compliment. How often does she think I look good? “Can you imagine what kind of magic they’re packed with?”

Ven glances at the open book on the reading stand. “Let’s see.”

I join him, watching him flip through crudely drawn illustrations of odd shapes. We both snigger.

“Look through walls,” he reads before turning to the next page. “Neverending sweat. Turn a face blue. Glue lips together… This one says you can unglue them by washing your mouth with soap.”

“Lost knowledge.” Aqua scoffs.

“But who made them?” I ask. “The Master?”

Aqua rolls her eyes. “Please.”

“This is _his_ secret room.”

“It _looks_ like his handwriting,” Ven says, trying to keep his smile tiny. Trying. “Kind of.”

The _O’s_ and the _T’s_ certainly have their curls, just the way Eraqus would have done them. The _Y’s_ are similar too, if a bit exaggerated and large. As Ven turns more pages, all of which are yellowed and chipped at the edges, I realize the drawings match the shapes of different vials, equipped with descriptions of colors. 

“I think Ven’s right.”

Aqua throws a look ( _Forget it_ ) and rolls her eyes again. It’s her favorite thing to do. “We’re talking about the _Master_ here. He wouldn’t waste his time on something like this.”

“I got an idea!” Ven beams, nudging me on the elbow. “Why don’t we try some? Guess what they are before we look in the book?”

The only person who stiffens is Aqua. 

“Look at her face.” Ven points. “She thinks we’re savages.”

Aqua doesn’t say anything, but it’s possible. 

I cock my head. “If the Master were here, he would have gotten a kick out of this.”

“Terra—”

“Regardless of who made them.” 

She drums her fingers on her forearm. “If it makes you happy,” she mumbles. It was subtle, but it was there.

“I’ll go first!” Ven leaps over the reading stand. There’s a rainbow of the most unsavory colors. The neon, the dull, the too realistic. “This one looks perfect.” He grabs a thin vial of liquid that I could mistake for vomit: a faded, rotten lime green, and drinks it all in one swish.

Following the last gulp, he withers to the floor, flailing and begging for it to stop.

I’m searching through the book for an answer.

Aqua throws herself to her knees. “What’s wrong?”

Ven giggles, cradling his stomach then scratching his back. “Don’t touch me.” He gasps in between painful howls of laughter. “It makes it worse.”

She carries his head to her lap anyway. She wouldn’t be Aqua if she isn’t indulging in some deep-seated instinct to assume we’re not healthy before assuring herself that we are. 

I tap my finger onto a page. “Tickling potion. ‘ _Give this to your favorite person_ ,’ it says.”

“I’m going”—Ven inhales—“to bring the Master”—inhales again—“back to life just to… kill him again.” He deteriorates into another round of wheezing, hugging himself tight and turning over into a fetal position.

“It’s too juvenile for the Master,” Aqua reminds me.

This page is written with the same suspicious calligraphy but I hold my tongue. To ease the look of worry on Aqua’s face, I step forward. “My turn.”

“You can’t be serious,” Aqua says.

“Relax. There’s no such thing as death by tickling.”

Aqua jerks to say something but stops herself. I’m guessing, _Let me have at it and you’d think otherwise_. Nothing that she’d say with Ven in the room.

Ven rubs his eyes and sighs—it’s shaky and long, but it’s an improvement. “Can I try another one?”

The first potion to catch my attention is this wide, stubby one filled with what looks like dark mud. 

“ _Terra_.” 

Her warning makes me think of the slight possibility of developing diarrhea from this. I stare into her eyes as I swallow a gulp of it anyway, much to her horror and much to my enjoyment. Her expressions are a never-ending list of entertainment. 

The potion is too smooth to be mud. It tastes spicy, a kick without any flavor. At first, I don’t feel anything, until a zap of electricity rides up my spine. Gooseflesh covers the backs of my calves up to my neck.

By the time I realize that I’m shivering, Aqua has my face in her hands. Her fingertips are warm when she brushes my hair.

“I’m fine.” A white cloud puffs out of my lips. 

Ven is cackling. Not from the tickling, that may have stopped as soon as he got distracted, but he’s pointing his finger at me.

“As fine as a monkey walking naked into the snow,” she quips, wrapping the robe around my shoulders and rubbing my biceps. 

“You can’t say, _I told you so_ ,” I say, my voice reverberating. “You didn’t know this was going to happen.”

“I know you don’t regret it.”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

She scoffs, smirking. Her eyes drop to some faraway conversation with herself.

“What are you thinking?” My teeth clatter. 

She raises her eyebrows, playing coy. 

“Whoever made this freezing potion,” Ven interrupts, having dragged himself to the book and is now leaning on it with both hands to stay stable, “wanted to test it. See if it could preserve vital organs.” He slowly nods (as if anything in this book makes sense). 

“I guess we’ll find out if it worked when I die.” The tremors hurt, rupturing in blows down my torso. Aqua mutters a spell and a fiery glow halos her hands, hovering near my skin. My own personal hearth. I can’t help but imagine doing the same for her one day. 

“Anyone else want to take a crack at it or should I drink another one?” Ven says.

Aqua glances over her shoulder and is _actually considering it_. 

“No way,” I say.

She ignores me, reading each bottle as though they’d spill their secrets.

I lean towards her ear, though she’s already swatting me away. “Do you need help choosing one?”

She grabs a curvy vial that looks like it has hips and is filled to the brim with pure white. Defiantly turning to stick her nose up at me, she proudly drinks (a sip), grimacing through the taste. But she keeps tall. As long as the nose stays up.

“Oh shit,” Ven mutters.

“Language,” I say.

We wait for the effect. Nothing happens. 

“What do you feel?” I ask.

“Nothing. I feel normal.”

“You’re a liar,” Ven says, throwing pages and scanning pictures, then rustling back to see if he skipped any.

“I am _not_. Maybe it’s expired.” As soon as she says it, her eyes go wide.

“That doesn’t make any sense. We had immediate effects. Maybe you should drink some more?”

“Don’t be silly.” Aqua shuts the bottle with its topper and gently places it back in its spot. “This was a foolish game, anyway.” 

I have to scoff—that’s harsh, even coming from Aqua. “Then why go for it?”

“Because I admire you so much, Terra, when you’re brave enough to go after something I wouldn’t come near. Because I have to match you, maybe outmatch you sometimes, if you get on my nerves. Because sometimes I get scared that I’ve missed out on so much, and I can’t help but wonder if our childhood may be missing something. After everything we’ve lost, I don’t want to be scared of being silly anymore. But… What if I’m a boring slog? I don’t want to be a bore. I want to be daring and fun like you and Ven,” she says in rapid tossed word salad, her hands getting animated the more she talks, pressed to answer questions we didn’t ask.

Ven and I have nothing to say.

“I…” Aqua fusses with her sleeves. “I don’t know why I unloaded all of that.”

“Dramatic, much?” Ven says.

She fists her hips. “Dramatic is when you whine about your dreams so you can avoid chores thinking I wouldn’t call your bluff.”

Ven gapes. “Aqua, you’re mean.”

“I don’t know what’s happening.” She hides her face behind her hands, taking them to her heart and bowing. “Ven, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Something weird is going on.” I take the helm at searching the book, shuffling pages in chunks until I find one with stark white paint, in the shape of curves and waves. “Ven,” I whisper when I read the description. When he looks at me, his impish smile stretches with lists of ideas. I’m right there with him.

A stuffy silence fills the room when we recite it: _Truth potion. The person who drinks it cannot help but to answer questions honestly._

Aqua steps back. 

She bolts out of the room, knocking some of the books over. 

“Get her!” Ven yells.

My muscles protest when I take off, stiff and sluggish as though I’ve experienced a whole winter outside. Aqua dashes through an open doorway and thrusts her arm out. The doors slam together, refusing to let me through. Ven’s going to have to find another way around. This won’t stop me and she knows it. I slip through a growing portal of darkness—the swirls that lick me would have been cold, but I’m numb—and I come out the other side. There’s certain tricks that come from being the poster boy for Darkness; it’s helpful in fights.

This part of the castle leads to the common areas. I know where she’ll be.

Aqua is splitting her attention between mixing batter in a large wooden bowl and running a soapy dishwash in the kitchen sink. When I approach her, she makes a point to put her finger on her lips.

Stars, it’s so hard not to laugh. “You’re not going to—”

She grunts, shaking her head furiously at me. No questions. 

With my elbows propped on the countertop, I watch her scrub a dish. More than she normally does, actually, a little therapy session to take her mind off the fact that I’m relishing this moment. It’s satisfying how she suddenly remembers that she’s heating the oven, throwing herself across the kitchen to check the temperature.

She points to the spice cupboard next to me, and gets more enthusiastic when I open it. Apparently, she wants the cinnamon. 

“I think vinegar would help better with what you’re doing.” I nod my head to the sink. 

With the flick of her hand, water pouring out of the faucet changes direction and splashes me in the face.

“Am I annoying?” I snigger. I _had_ to.

A tick in her shoulders—her body has no choice but to react. “That’s a stupid question.” Every word is pulled out of her teeth. Normally, she’d say, _No, how could you even imagine that!_

I dip my finger into the suds and plant one large print on her forehead in between the eyes, where she’s glaring so hard, they are crossed.

“How about now?”

“The _worst_ ,” she groans, slamming her hands into the bath. She takes a washcloth to dry them and wipes her forehead. Afterwards, she hands it to me. 

“Think of it as an opportunity to get to know the real you.” I dry my face. 

“You know me already.”

“Do I know _everything_ , though?”

“No.” This potion doesn’t miss a beat.

Ven is panting by the time he enters, climbing a stool behind the counter and peering over the edge like a small child. He’s doing that on purpose, goading her into playing along. He asks me, “Can we?”

She groans.

I’m back on my elbows so I can look up at her and give her the same puppy dog eyes. Between glancing at the two of us, she can’t stand it. She wants to make us happy, she’s always been like that. Then again, she probably also wants to bash our heads together and leave us with headaches. One of the two would amuse her better. 

“How about we ask her three questions only? We shouldn’t drive her crazy.”

She chuckles, that little smile of hers growing and reassuring and _there_. That’s my girl. Turning off the sink, she folds the washcloth and brings her hands together as though we’re in class. “Three questions each. Is that okay?”

Wow. “More than I asked for.” 

“I already have one,” Ven says, sitting on his knees. “Do you hate Lea?”

“A little. But I’m working on it.”

Ven snorts and drops his face onto the counter. How many times have we asked her that and got the, _Don’t be ridiculous. Like I said, he’s formidable._ “I knew it.”

“He does his missions with the least amount of effort possible. Takes the easiest route to build his technique. _Efficiency_ , he calls it,” she says, letting out the hot pressure she’s been keeping to herself with relief. “He also calls me, _Teach_. Who does that?”

Of all the times I’ve expected Aqua to snap at someone, she holds herself back when it comes to Lea, giving him tight smiles to zip it all up. “Ouch,” I say. “He’s been working so hard on a gift to thank you for working with Isa.”

She grimaces. “At least he has good taste in men? Isa does have a respectable work ethic.” 

I pat her hand. Aqua’s usually the one to blow the kettle first, but there’s ways to connect people who may not see eye to eye the first time. Maybe I can be a buffer. “Next time you meet, I could go with you.”

“I’d appreciate that,” she whispers. 

“Lea would find it hilarious, honestly.” Ven waves his hand as if it’s no big deal. “I bet he’d give you a note with your gift. It would say, _Thanks for everything. I hate you, too_ , _Teach_.”

“Okay, my turn,” I say, resting my chin on my palm. She studies me, too, though I’d like to believe I could keep a poker face. “Do you sometimes steal my cologne?”

“Yes.”

Her bluntness throws me back. “To _wear_?”

“Yes,” she says as though it’s obvious and crosses her arms. _Duh_.

“Hey, that’s _two_ questions,” Ven says. 

“Sorry.” I take one more glance to see if I could gleam any more clues from her facial expressions, but she keeps her nose high. As long as the nose stays up.

“I have to think of a really good one.” Ven holds his chin, looking more serious than he’s been since the Keyblade War. “Ever farted then blamed Terra for it?”

“Ugh.” Aqua quivers, her knuckles bleaching. She throws her face over her shoulder and stares scars into the wall. “Yes of course, didn’t we all?” 

“Come on, _I_ could’ve answered that,” I say (though after all these years, it’s validating to know it’s not a blame game anymore). I nudge her with my shoulder. “Justice does feel pretty good.”

“Ask me something better,” she says after smacking my bicep. Her face is as ripe as sunburn. 

Questions that give her more control. I could do that. “Is there anything you’ve been needing to say but haven’t had the chance to yet?”

The tension in her face drops. It leaves something pale and disappointed in its place, a faraway look. I shouldn’t have asked; whatever this fear is, it’s meant for me. “Yes,” she whispers.

I stand pin-straight, the air in the room thinning, as though the Darkness has opened a hole and is sucking all the sun away. Ven does the same. The other Keybearers will stare at their cuticles, or fumble and cut themselves out of the group when they’re upset or hurt or sorry. Eraqus forged a protocol out of us. When we witness or cause harm, we recite what we’ve done and its effects. We bow when we apologize. 

So far, we’ve been home for one hundred and seventy five days. Never expected it to take this long. I open my mouth to speak.

“Don’t,” she says softly. “I know what you’re going to ask.”

I would have pleaded with her to let me apologize, and I would have met her dismissal anyway: _No, Terra, it’s not necessary. We’ve been through it all. We should enjoy what we have._ She means well; the relaxation and the mundane tasks are good for all of us. Even when we were younger, Aqua was generous at her expense, sparing nuts from her brownie to bake them into a tarte, knowing I hate brownies. She’d look at the brighter side of things ( _More fudge for me!),_ and stick her tongue out. She’s been my smile, but she gives too much, and we still need this conversation.

“So what is the answer?”

She lowers her eyes to the counter, then wills them back up at me. “I blame myself.”

Aqua.

Ven sighs. “I should give you guys some space.” He treads away, keeping his footsteps minimal, meticulously turning the handle so it’d make the least noise possible. Out of the corner of my eye, though, I see him press his ear against the door before it shuts. If he’s going to listen in, that’s fine with me. Whatever she and I have to say to each other would affect all three of us.

“You blame—”

“I would be… lying.” She simpers, shaking her head. “If I said I never blamed you. There were moments I did. How and why. But I had enough endless nights where those reasons circled back to me. What I could have done to make it better. To save you,” she croaks, wiping her eyes. “To be a best friend. You needed that. Ven needed one, too. And I wasn’t.”

Aqua scrubs the already-clean counter with that dry washcloth, creating a rhythm that fills the silence. The oven is now heated, and I take the cinnamon and pour two spoonfuls of it into a beaker, our backs to each other. Add cups of sugar for her, some cocoa, a pinch of vanilla while she drills the grouts in between the tiles.

“I wasn’t much of a best friend myself, either.”

“You were hurt and defeated.”

“I was stupid.”

“You are not.”

I scoff, reaching over and pausing her. My smile is meant to be gentle, but it feels so plastic. “Aqua, do you think I’m stupid?”

“I don’t.”

I’ve expected her to half-smirk, where she tells me, _Sometimes_. “Really?”

“You overthink,” she simply puts. “But you assume the best. You know, that makes you a better person than me.”

Ha. No. “No. I’m not better than you. Not by a long shot.”

She hums. “I’m just correct more often.”

“But I left you.”

“And I kicked your trust in me in the shins. Are we going to keep count of all the unfriendly things we’ve done? How different would it have been if I didn’t accuse you of things that weren’t true?”

“How different would it be if I had just stayed with you?” I realize I shouldn’t have asked the moment I finish.

In a trance, Aqua inspects the beaker with the spices and sugars I’ve concocted, deciding what I’d done is good enough and dumping them into her unmixed dough, stirring, giving her hands something to do, while I wait for the onslaught. “Probably avoided the last twelve years.” I wince. “ _Or_ it could have made no difference. We could have ended up the same, or worse, or better.”

I say, “You don’t believe that,” before stopping myself.

“I was taught to respect Xehanort, too.” 

“We were taught to recognize the Darkness.”

“Which I also failed at.”

“Clearly.”

“I did. I looked for it inside you where I should have placed my faith instead. I regret every moment I did.” She puts the bowl down, a slap of wood against marble. “We don’t help ourselves by obsessing about it a million times.”

“But you’d help _me_ if you let me apologize. To you especially.”

She whips around with nothing to retort, fresh tears short of falling. “To me _especially_?”

“Ven deserves something of his own. Please.”

She drops her hands together. Swallows. Nods. 

I bow, watching droplets land near my shoes. “ _I_ should have been there for you. I should have been stronger. I should have realized what was happening sooner, and I thought I did. I thought I did what I could, and I was there with you in the Graveyard, but it wasn’t enough, and for all the years I didn’t know, I should have found a way to learn and pay you back for what you’ve sacrificed for me. I should have eased your pain, I should have brought you back to the Light. I was focused on myself when I should have lifted you up, and I disappeared when you needed me most. I should have done _more_ , and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

Silence passes the time and I look up to see what she thinks. She’s wetting the washcloth, dabbing my eyes. “Do you feel better?” she asks.

“Kind of.” I’m beat up after taking all those shots, but I’m lighter, free to breathe without the nagging suspicion that I don’t deserve to. 

“One of the things I wished for when I was in the Realm of Darkness was to smell sugar again. I wanted to hear you give me a list of reasons why it’s bad for my body, and I wanted to tell you why it’s good for the heart.” I let her dab my cheeks, the dampness frigid against my skin. “Now that I’m back home, I don’t need any other wish granted.” She sniffs, about to pour the batter into its mold, but then flicks the oven off exasperatedly. “I forgot. I have to wait for the dough to rise.” For some reason that finally breaks her. It tears me apart as well, and I have to hold her shoulder so we don’t rip down the middle. 

“Please don’t cry,” I say, offering the washcloth. “I care too much about you to sit here and watch you cry.”

She stops. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing.” I let go and stare at her blended mix, smooth as cream. 

“That’s not fair,” she says, throwing the washcloth onto the counter. “I have _no_ _choice_ with what I say. You could at least answer me honestly.”

“I don’t want to be the reason you cry anymore.” Nor do I want to tell her the truth. Instead I hide it on the back of my neck, where I rub into it so it doesn’t spill over. And yet, that makes me feel more guilty now than I have in weeks. 

“I should make _you_ swallow a truth potion.”

“I wanted us to be equals.” She saves her usual response and waits for me to continue. I close my eyes. “Go through all the same experiences with you. We were supposed to stick together, do everything together. Failing the Mark of Mastery took all of that away from me. Or at least it felt that way at the time. And I wanted more. I wanted…” My hand finds nothing as it waves in the air searching for the words to spell it out. “I don’t know what to say. Everything I’ve done and didn’t do pale in comparison to _you_.”

“We’re not doing this. We’re not comparing ourselves.”

“No, I mean…” What the stars am I supposed to say? “You’re more important to me than you understand.”

“And you’re just as important to me.”

“No… it’s different with me.” And I’ve said too much, Aqua holding her elbows and expecting me to continue. There’s no other trail to go down than the one I’ve started. “I meant what I said at the preliminary feast.”

“Excuse me?”

The feast where the Master celebrated our achievements, announcing that we’re at last ready for the final test. Where Ven and I squeezed ourselves into suits and he complained the entire night about being itchy. Where I spent it staring at her dress. When I said she looked pretty and then avoided her for the rest of the party.

I don’t say anything about that night and she hears something anyway.

“That’s why…” She glosses over me with wide eyes as the realization makes me look like a stranger. “You should have said something to me.”

“You can’t be serious.” I wave her away.

“But all these years, I didn’t know.”

Good, if we’re talking about the same thing. “I couldn’t have told you anything.”

“Then how was I supposed to figure that out?”

What are we talking about now? “What exactly did you expect me to do?” 

“You should have kissed me.” She covers her mouth, wincing at what slipped out. She keeps her chin high anyway, casually crossing her arms and pretending that her face hasn’t reddened the deep shade staining her cheeks. As long as it stays up.

We pass an unspoken conversation between each other, frozen and unwilling to move.

_Did you just—?_

_I did._

I manage to exhale. “You’re right.”

There’s a moment of shock on her face before I hold her and lean forward. It happens so quick that I don’t register what she tastes like before I realize that I’m clamping my hands on her biceps, two bent rods leaning on each other.

“That was awful,” I say.

“No, it’s—” she laughs.

“Bad.”

“Yeah.”

“I always thought it’d go different.”

“Always?”

Well, I’ve run out of words. “I guess.” When I let her go, she reaches for my chest and lifts onto her toes, kissing me back but with care and intention this time, filling my lips with hers. They taste like Aqua, smell like her shampoo. They’re softer than her hands and face, sweet enough for me to want more. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with my hands until I settle them in the sway of her back. I let her take the lead, take another kiss, tug at my neck. She trembles from the frozen touch of my skin and from the hold of my hands on her body. My muscles are getting warm, too warm but I like it and I think she knows. Earlier this morning, I held her this close, but this is closer. It’s easy and difficult at the same time. 

Then I remember and pull away. “Ven is listening to us.”

There’s a bump on the door as it’s pushed when he kicks himself off, heavy footsteps running down the hall. 

Aqua looks like she’s touched feces. “ _Ven!_ ”

I follow her, wondering if she’s going to summon her Keyblade but that’s because of how fast she’s walking, like she has a mission, no Heartless left standing. We turn a corner, down a hall of antique vases and ancient cupboards carved from our first masters. Wood creaks nearby. 

She holds her palm up like she’s holding a chalice, and flames lick the cupboard closest to us until it rattles and spits Ven out. He scrambles onto his feet and brandishes his finger, testing our distance as if he’d poke us in a duel. 

“I still have my last question and it’s in your _best interest_ not to threaten me.”

“Oh really? Tell me again how you’re going to protect yourself when you sleep,” she says.

He grounds himself before giving his performance of, “Do you want to see Terra naked?”

Aqua trembles from her head to her knees, her cheeks blotting a strong shot of red. She throttles forward and cups both of her hands onto her mouth like she’s going to sneeze. What sounds like a loud goose honk blows out as the answer. 

“That was awesome.” Ven slaps his thigh, turning on his heel and leaving a trail of giggles. 

I’m scared to say anything, in case she honks at me. So I wait. There’s just no way to make myself seem small, or leave without disturbing her. Maybe if I hold my breath, she’d feel like she has privacy. She’s panting, giving me side glances but never looking directly at me, that nose of hers wilting towards the floor. 

I open my mouth to say something—

She growls and I clutch my lips together. Aqua pulls her Gummiphone out of her pocket, jabbing a message.

Mine rings. 

**Aqua**

_Let’s find a potion that dyes his hair pink_

She clears her throat, before flipping it over and typing again.

**Aqua**

_Don’t tell him it was my idea_

“Okay,” I say, testing the word. Even though I soften it, it still bangs like a gong. I don’t know what else to do except smile at her. She grimaces back, no doubt the last several words spoken still ringing in her ears, just as they do in mine. I even hesitate when I hold her elbow—would it ever be the same, or will every touch mean something different? I don’t voice those questions. 

She moves by reflex: first to flinch, then to hold me by my elbow, mirroring me, which isn’t the most comfortable position. She follows my forearm to my hand, knitting our fingers together, and we stand there, adjusting how they fit. Mine are long and thick, dwarfing and burying hers, an oversized pouch for a gem. They fit perfectly, I think. 

“We can find something better,” I say, looking for anything to distract her. “There’s also those books to read, and the robe to fix. The brownies you’re making—”

“It’s supposed to be cinnamon bread,” she mumbles.

Yech. “Nothing I’d eat anyway.”

Her chuckle is partial, contorted and pressed. 

“I can make some beef jerky for everyone. Spice it up,” I say. She hides an amused whimper behind her hand and massages her cheek. “We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.” 

She nods, offering me a relieved but crooked smile. 

I don’t know if we should walk the castle hand in hand, so I splay it between her shoulder blades and lead the way. We walk in silence, and I’m okay with that if it helps her. No questions, her head up high like everything is back to normal. We steal glances and do a terrible job at hiding our giggles behind small talk, which is botched and jittery anyway, but there’s not much to say without asking, _So… how old were you when you realized?_

One of these nights, I’ll tell her I’d like to see her naked, too, when the time is right and the truth comes easier. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty emotional this Valentine's. Last year on this day, we got the call that my boyfriend had to leave the country. This year though, after 11 months being apart, he's next to me, in the same room. It was a rough journey, and it was senseless and painful and I have yet to find meaning behind it, but I'm just relieved and peaceful now.
> 
> I hope this day is pleasant for you, no matter where you are or if you're with somebody.
> 
> Catch me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mimiplaysgames1)!


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